Poor maids have more lovers than husbands.

Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

Do you not weep? Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out. The element of water moistens the earth, But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.

Heaven fashioned us of nothing; and we strive to bring ourselves to nothing.

Vain the ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind.

Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent. 'Tis better to be fortunate than wise.

For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.